What is money?

My car. And sex.


Feelings of discomfort and anguish.

Is that all?

Bottlecaps. And maybe thumb-tacks.

All correct, my dear. You are truly wise.

I’m not really a genius or anything.

Let’s not get carried away. I said wise.

I’ll accept that, short of Einstein.

We shall not go there, my friend.

And I thank you for it, sir.

(They kiss. A formality, but with increasing passion.

It is a swap of spit and stock tips. The end. Or thee.)

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